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This is the blog of Ian Rosales Casocot. Filipino writer. Sometime academic. Former backpacker. Twink bait. Hamster lover.
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Bibliography
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The Great Little Hunter
Pinspired Philippines, 2022
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The Boy The Girl
The Rat The Rabbit
and the Last Magic Days
Chapbook, 2018
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Republic of Carnage:
Three Horror Stories
For the Way We Live Now
Chapbook, 2018
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Bamboo Girls:
Stories and Poems
From a Forgotten Life
Ateneo de Naga University Press, 2018
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Don't Tell Anyone:
Literary Smut
With Shakira Andrea Sison
Pride Press / Anvil Publishing, 2017
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Cupful of Anger,
Bottle Full of Smoke:
The Stories of
Jose V. Montebon Jr.
Silliman Writers Series, 2017
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First Sight of Snow
and Other Stories
Encounters Chapbook Series
Et Al Books, 2014
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Celebration: An Anthology to Commemorate the 50th Anniversary of the Silliman University National Writers Workshop
Sands and Coral, 2011-2013
Silliman University, 2013
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Handulantaw: Celebrating 50 Years of Culture and the Arts in Silliman
Tao Foundation and Silliman University Cultural Affairs Committee, 2013
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Inday Goes About Her Day
Locsin Books, 2012
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Beautiful Accidents: Stories
University of the Philippines Press, 2011
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Heartbreak & Magic: Stories of Fantasy and Horror
Anvil, 2011
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Old Movies and Other Stories
National Commission for Culture
and the Arts, 2006
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FutureShock Prose: An Anthology of Young Writers and New Literatures
Sands and Coral, 2003
Nominated for Best Anthology
2004 National Book Awards
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© 2002-2021
IAN ROSALES CASOCOT
Monday, May 28, 2007
1:44 PM |
Reports From the Lazy Zone
You must know that I am manic-depressive, of the non-threatening kind. I am amazingly creative and bubbling with ideas for long stretches of time -- but when every ounce of that has been spent, I spiral to silence and slovenly ways, often lasting for days or weeks, and are often very dark. Starting with my arrival from India, I've found myself in a minor depressive phase -- "minor" because I'm not depressed at all, only lazy. Then again, after the work and travel I've done in the past month, I think I can allow myself this respite from workaholism. And so I've allowed myself to put everything on hold. The apartment has gone to seed as well (it's a pigsty of neglect), and I've opted instead to watch trashy television, to read my newly-bought books (you have no idea how many I bought in India), or watching movies. Yesterday morning, while Mark slept, I rediscovered Woody Allen's
Husbands and Wives, which I had sniffed as being too blah the first time it came out. It's a minor companion to his more searing dramas like
Interiors or
Match Point or
Crimes and Misdemeanors, but I like it because it allows itself to be funny even when it punctures all our notions of what makes a working relationship. All I needed to appreciate the film was a little maturity
pala, and I did watch it more attuned to the pains and qualms of its story of two couples going through the minefield of marriage and relationship.
(
Side note: Don't worry, Ma'am Ce. My response to Florin's article for
Silliman Journal is a short story I'm titling "Consecration." I'm done with the first part
na.)
Of course I know this slothful idyll has got to end soon. In fact it will end tonight, because I plan to wield the broom and the mop in a while, and proceed to wipe away every grime from my pad. (I always clean at night, don't ask me why.) And then it's a return to work. And I'll be truly happy.
Labels: film, life
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